Power of Ice Have I Over Thee
by krypteria
Summary: See full summary in BIO! Tristaen's coven was killed off by her mentor, and now she's hiding in New Salem. NickOC


Nick had just stepped out of his car when his ears were assaulted with loud music. Goth metal blaring from some unseen place. His eyes came to rest on a sleek black Porsche as it turned the corner and lazily crawled into the school parking lot.

He couldn't tell much about the driver from his distance. It was female, and someone he didn't know. And in New Salem, since the town was so small, everyone knew each other. Which meant she was new.

The rev of a motorcycle engine distracted him, and he turned to greet Deborah. She glanced over to the Porsche, shrugged and moved toward the school. Nick himself couldn't help but look back one more time before following his cousin.

-----

Tristaen sat at the steering wheel for a long moment staring up at the high school. It had been a long time since she'd actually been in a school. The engine clicked off, and she threw her keys in her messenger bag before heading down one of the many paths that led up to the building. Everyone seemed to know one another here, and were chatting happily away as she passed, though she caught a few furtive glances her.

She sighed and looked at her schedule. AP Art. Room B-320. Wherever that may be. She turned to the nearest person, a girl with a frighteningly-perfect blonde hair (highlights and all) and an upturned nose.

"Excuse me," Tristaen said carefully. "Could you tell me where room B-320 is?".

The girl turned and eyed her disdainfully from head to toe. From her cashmere sweater to her flowing circle skirt to her delicate satin pumps. Her expression softened a bit more when she saw the car she'd driven to school.

"Of course I can," she replied sweetly. The type of sweet that was so sickening it made Tristaen want to throw up. "Actually, let me show you where it is. My name's Portia, by the way. Portia Bainbridge." She held out her hand.

Tristaen raised her own hand and hesitated, before placing the palms of her hands flat against her thighs again. She just instinctively did not like this girl. "Tristaen DuClairc."

"How… rich," Portia said, but then caught herself. "Your name, of course. You've got to love American slang."

"I see."

"Anyway, your class is just right down this hallway. If you'll follow me…"

The blonde moved swiftly down the hallway, nose in the air, shoulders thrown back, as if she owned the place and everyone else was beneath her.

Tristaen sighed. No, she definitely didn't like this girl.

Once at the classroom door, Portia turned to Tristaen once again. :I just love your hair, by the way. Who does it? Anyway, you'll have to tell me over lunch. Don't worry, I'll find you. Can't expect you to know your way around yet. I'll show you where to go and where not to… who to hang out with and who NOT to…" She looked over at a handsome boy in the back and wrinkled her nose in disdain.

A bell sounded and Tristaen winced in annoyance.

"Oh, look at the time! I'm going to be late for my own class!" Portia gave a tinkling laugh. "Ciao!"

Tristaen had the sudden urge to lock herself in the kiln and let herself be fired. _This is going to be a long year indeed, _she thought.

-----

"Everyone, can I have five?" the teacher called from the front of the classroom. "Can everyone please give me five?"

Most students didn't even turn around, but ignored her and continued in their conversations. Nick glanced up out of reflex and did a double take. The new girl was in his first period class.

He looked her over critically. She wasn't too bad looking, but she wasn't conventionally beautiful, with her dark auburn hair with various black and white highlights falling in waves to her shoulders. Her skin was a wintry white, so pale it was almost colorless. And she wasn't very tall. She'd be lucky to come up to his shoulders.

_A shapely little midget_, he mused.

But it was her eyes that got him. Almond-shaped, cold and piercing. Ice blue with black starbursts. They were the strangest eyes he'd ever seen, and he'd seen quite a few.

Her eyes locked with his, and he felt a shuddering jolt of familiarity. It felt like he knew this girl, like he'd ALWAYS known her. He sucked in a deep breath, unable to look away. Her lips parted slightly, blue eyes flashing. But then she shook her head slightly and looked away, a faint blush tinting her cheeks.

"We have a new student today," the teacher was saying. "Tristaen… um…"

"DuClairc. Tristaen DuClairc," the girl finished. Her voice was like an icy wind, crisp and cool with a faint accent.

"Yes, she's just transferred her from…" Again, the teacher trailed off.

"Scotland."

"Really, now? Why that's very interesting. I went to Scotland once. It was-"

The phone rang abruptly.

"Oh, well, yes, I'll get that. Why don't you sit next to Mr. Armstrong over there and he'll get you set up." She pointed to Nick.

The girl, Tristaen, hesitated a long moment, but then moved to sit next to him. Nick held his breath, waiting.

-----

The boy was tall, from what she could tell, with dark hair and a handsome, cold face. And he had the most beautiful brown eyes she'd ever seen. It was frightening, her attraction to the boy.

"I'm Nick," he said, his voice low and cool. It sent shivers down her spine.

He pulled out the chair next to him.

"Hello," she said quietly, refusing to meet his eyes again.

"So, erm…" He trailed off, at loss for words.

She sat down slowly and kept her eyes resolutely on the desk in front of her. "What are we supposed to do?" she asked, just as quietly as before. "For the class, I mean. What's our assignment?"

"Oh, yeah… some sort of sculpture or something. We're supposed to get partners and make a… head of each other." A corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. "I guess that means we're partners."

_I guess that means I'm doomed_, Tristaen thought balefully. "Where's the clay?" she said aloud, proud that her voice wasn't as shaky as she felt.

"By the sinks over there." He leaned back in his chair and gestured.

She took her time getting the clay, needing a moment to gather herself.

_It's okay. Everything is OKAY,_ she kept chanting silently. _Just because you felt… something… well, that doesn't mean anything. He's not… I refuse. I absolutely refuse. That's all there is to it. I'll tolerate him, but I will do nothing more. I REFUSE._

With a grim determination, she stalked back to her desk, eyeing him reproachfully. For long silent minutes, she wedged her clay furiously and made a very large ball.

"So, what's up?" Nick broke in, turning to face her in his seat.

"Sit still. Do not talk. Do not move. Try hard not to breathe. Or I. Will. Hurt. You." She ordered briskly.

She turned her desk to him, ball of clay sitting idly between them. She looked him up and down, eyes narrowed in calculation.

"But- I-wha?"

"I said shut. Up."

He gulped audibly. "Yes, ma'am."

She then focused all of her attention on the ball of clay, occasionally stealing a glance back up at him as her hands worked the clay into something respectable. By the end of the period. Nick had a stiff neck, but the ball at least was beginning to resemble a face. His face.

"That's pretty good," he said as she wrapped the clay in plastic and placed it in his cubby. "But next time you could tell me what you're doing instead of-"

She whipped around and glared at him. "Were you," she snapped in her clear Scottish accent, "talking to me?"

Her eyes flashed dangerously, and the air around him cooled noticeably.

"A simple please would do," he continued on as if she hadn't said anything.

"I'm late for my next class. Move," she hissed, pushing at his chest.

He raised a challenging eyebrow and didn't budge.

"Fine! Fine," she sighed exasperatedly. "Move. Please."

He gave her a cold smile and moved to the side. As she passed, he grasped her arm, forcing her to meet his eyes for the first time since the beginning of class. The cruel remark died on her tongue as mahogany brown met ice blue.

Looking up at him made her almost dizzy, but she couldn't take her eyes from his. She couldn't struggle from his grasp. She was frozen. And then she saw it.

They were connected by a silver cord that hummed and sang with power. A band of energy, linking them. It was so real she could almost reach out and touch it. It bound them heart to heart, and it was trying to draw them closer.

A thought came to her, as if some small voice from deep inside her was speaking. It was an ancient voice. A voice of undeniable truth. _The silver cord can never be broken. Your lives are linked. You can't escape each other any more than you can escape destiny._

Suddenly, as quickly as it had come, the picture and the voice vanished. She blinked and shook her head, trying to wrench her mind back. She found herself wrapped up in Nick's arms, his warm cheek resting against her own, sending small, electrical shocks throughout her body.

"Tristaen…" he murmured, lips lightly brushing along her jawbone.

"No," she begged weakly, her voice hoarse and strained. She was trembling in fear and emotion. "I can't. No, please. Let me go. Just… No!"

She wrenched herself from his embrace, eyes wide, lips parted in a gasp. "I do NOT have a Soulmate."

Nick reached out for her, but she turned and ran from the room, away from his touch.


End file.
